


look into the sun as the new days rise

by daughterofrohan



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, F/M, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 02:02:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19097500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daughterofrohan/pseuds/daughterofrohan
Summary: “Okay,” he concedes. “I’ll let you take care of me if you let me take care of you. Deal?”It’s such an absurd prospect that she actually laughs; a short, soft sound. “Deal.”





	look into the sun as the new days rise

**Author's Note:**

> BACKSTREET'S BACK, ALRIGHT! 
> 
> -me, still obsessively writing endgame fic? more likely than you think  
> -this is based on [this tumblr post](https://blackwidowbarton.tumblr.com/post/185176230771/headcannon-4#notes) by user blackwidowbarton, who is a top quality human  
> -fic title stolen from Stay Alive by Jose Gonzalez ([listen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NucJk8TxyRg))

_Don’t give me hope_.

His words echo in Natasha’s head, a repetitive mantra that she can’t manage to quiet. The distraction is so strong that she almost misses her turn, cursing as she pulls into the left lane, just narrowly avoiding a collision with the car behind her. Clint, sitting in the passenger’s seat beside her, remains expressionless, his eyes trained on the road in front of them. He hasn’t spoke since he followed her into her rental car, and Natasha suspects it’s going to be a long flight home.

Not that it feels like home. Empty hallways don’t make a home, even if they’re so familiar that she can navigate them in her sleep.

Not that she sleeps much anymore.

For five years, all she’s done is hope. To have her hope thrown back in her face as if it’s worthless is a different kind of pain than the state of numb nothingness she’s been existing in for so long. It’s the kind of pain that burns like a hot knife. If she wasn’t so angry at Clint, she’d almost be grateful that he’s helped her recover the ability to _feel_.

Once upon a time, he’d told her that she was his family. Which was why, after Thanos, when her frantic calls and messages had yielded nothing, she’d assumed the worst. When she’d found the farm empty of life, she’d assumed it again. And then she’d heard the rumours. Reports of a masked vigilante. An assassin. A man they called Ronin.

She’d tried desperately to ignore the signs, but in her heart, she’d known.

The same way that she’d known that, whether it was intentional or not, he was leaving a trail for her to follow, because if he’d wanted to make himself untraceable, he could have done it.

It was worse than if he’d disappeared entirely.

It had taken everything she had to take that step forward and take his hand, to guide him gently towards her car instead of screaming obscenities at him while the rain washed away the blood of the dead that surrounded them in the street. She’s spent five years looking for him, reaching out to him, trying to bring him home, trying to bring his _family_ home, trying to fix this mess that they’ve ended up in.

And now he won’t even speak to her.

She wants to hurt him the way he’s hurt her. She wants to heal him the way he’s healed her.

Mostly, she just wants her best friend back.

_(We’re still friends, right?)_

She tries to ignore the way that her finding him so perfectly parallels the way he’d found her all those years ago, in a darkened alley surrounded by bloodied corpses, and extended a hand instead of his bow.

_(They told me to kill you. I can, but I don’t want to.)_

She wonders if that version of him still exists, or if he lost it along with his family.

(Her family. _Their_ family.)

 _I lost them too_ , she wants to say. _I lost you. I lost everyone._

 _Love is for children_ , she’d told Loki, once. _I owe him a debt_. This is how she repays it.

It’s a fourteen hour flight until they’re back stateside. Neither one of them closes their eyes.

Natasha suspects he’s been plagued by the same recurring nightmares as she has. She wonders if he watched them disappear, his entire family turning into dust before his eyes. She wonders if he knew she’d survived the snap before she’d appeared in Tokyo, wonders if he’d cared. Wonders if he’d spent sleepless nights looking for her, the way she’d looked for him.

She thinks the answers might break her.

Not that she hasn’t already broken. The past five years have been an exercise in piecing herself back together, with the occasional help of the teammates that she knows whisper behind her back about how she’s gone crazy, and yet continue to send her the same bleak updates, week after week. Scott’s appearance at the compound had been a gift that she hadn’t dared hope for, and that momentum had carried her to Tokyo. But now that the shell of her former partner is sitting here, his eyes fixed on the seat in front of him even as their plane begins its descent, she’s wondering if maybe her hope has been stretched too thin.

It’s only just nearing midnight by the time they touch down, but it’s Natasha’s second consecutive night without sleep and, come to think of it, she can’t remember the last time she’s eaten. A wave of dizziness hits her as they exit the plane and she stumbles briefly, only to feel a gentle hand on her elbow, steadying her.

His voice is low as he leans over her shoulder to speak into her ear. “You should let me drive.”

“I’m fine,” she replies automatically.

“Bullshit, Natasha.”

“I’m fine,” she says again shortly. “Not that you’ve cared, for the past five years.”

She quickens her pace before he can respond, knowing he’ll follow. It’s not like he has anywhere else to go. She leads him into the parking garage, and makes her way to the driver’s side door, her eyes meeting his briefly over the top of the car as she pulls on the handle. His face is full of raw, unmasked hurt, and she feels a grim sense of satisfaction knowing that her words have had their desired effect.

He slips back into an uncomfortable silence as she pulls out of the garage. Natasha doesn’t blame him.

A part of her wants to get back to the compound as soon as possible so she can sleep, because at this point she’d welcome the relief of her nightmares. A bigger part of her is aware that she’s feeling weaker by the second, and that no matter what she’d told Clint, she’ll be a liability on the road if she doesn’t eat something soon, so she pulls into a McDonalds parking lot. She didn’t come this far to get them both killed, after all.

She sighs deeply as she puts the car in park. “You hungry?”

“No,” he grunts, still not looking at her.

She half expects her car to be gone when she returns but he’s still sitting there, staring resolutely forward. “I know you said you didn’t want anything,” she says, pressing a bag into his hand. “But I figured…if you haven’t eaten in as long as I have…”

“Thanks,” he responds quietly, the bag crinkling as he reaches in, pulling out a wrapped burger. Natasha nods in response as she takes a bite of her own, pulling back onto the highway. The tension in the air relaxes minutely as they speed along near-empty roads towards the compound.

He doesn’t speak again until they’re heading up the long driveway, Natasha’s headlights providing the only visibility. It’s just past one in the morning. “I did.”

“You did…what?” she responds cautiously.

“I did care.”

“Clint-”

“The first thing I did once…once it happened was try to find you. Make sure you were okay.”

She can feel tears pricking at her eyelids. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“Because I didn’t want to hurt you any more than I already had.”

“I thought you _died_ , Clint!”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“I thought you died,” she says again, swallowing back tears. “I don’t know how many more times I can lose everything.”

“Hey.” His voice is rough as he reaches across the car, squeezing her shoulder briefly. “You haven’t lost me yet.”

Her lips curve up in a small smile as tears begin to leak out of the corner of her eyes despite all of her efforts to hold them back. “And I’ve been trying so hard.”

“I’m not ready to see anyone else yet,” he confesses.

“You won’t have to. Most people here still sleep.”

“But not you,” he responds, picking up on what she hasn’t said. “When’s the last time you slept through the night, Natasha?”

“Five years ago,” she says in a low voice.

“Nat, I-”

She shakes her head slightly, cutting him off, because she’s not ready for whatever confession comes next. “Let’s go inside.”

Their footsteps echo in the empty hallways as they make their way through the kitchen. Natasha heads for her own bedroom instinctively, pausing outside the door only when she realizes that Clint is still following her, a lost expression on his face, and she remembers that it’s been years since he’s set foot in the building.

“There’s a spare room,” she begins, at the same time that he says, “Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Clint…”

“You can say no,” he adds quickly. “I’m sorry, I’m…I shouldn’t have asked.”

Sharing a bed with him is like slipping into a second skin; they’ve done it countless times during jobs and even more often after, because they both have a tendency to slip into dark places when they’re coming down from a mission, and Laura has a tendency to worry, no matter how many times they tell her that it’s as normal a part of their job as anything else they do, so they’d taken to spending the worst nights together before heading back to the farm, even more so in their later years as it got increasingly harder to hide things from Cooper and Lila.

Natasha _aches_ for the familiarity of their old routine. And yet, a small part of her, the part that’s still angry with him, doesn’t want to give him the thing she so desperately craves herself.

The desire for human comfort that she hasn’t felt in years quickly wins out.

“Stay.”

He looks at her uncertainly. “Are you sure?”

She slips her hand into his, pulling him towards the door as she pushes it open. “I’m sure.”

Clint pulls her into a tight embrace as the door swings shut behind them, burying his face in her hair, and Natasha tries not to think about how long it’s been since she’s felt this comfortable in someone’s arms. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t need to ask what for. Because this is what they do. Take care of each other. Bring each other back. Put each other back together, one aching piece at a time.

“Come on,” she says softly. “Bed.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “But I should warn you.”

“About?”

“I haven’t slept through the night in about five years either.”

“Did you see it happen?” She regrets the question the instant it falls from her lips. “Shit. I’m sorry Clint, I didn’t-”

“It’s okay,” he interrupts. He drags a hand across his face, and it might just be the dim lighting of the bedroom but Natasha thinks the lines on his face look deeper, more pronounced. She wonders if the past five years have aged her in the same way. Clint sinks down onto the edge of the bed and she follows him, sitting cross legged so that she’s facing him, her knee brushing against his.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she whispers.

“They’re your family too, Nat. I had no right to keep it from you.”

“That’s not what I’m mad about, Clint.” Giving voice to her anger takes away some of the control that it holds over her, and the heaviness that has plagued her for near half a decade now begins to lift ever so slightly.  

He exhales; a long, shaking breath, and his body seems to deflate under her gaze as he responds, “I know.”

“If we were going to lose everything, we could have at least done it together.” _You left me_ , is the unspoken accusation. For most of her life, Natasha had prided herself on being a person who didn’t need people. It had taken Clint (and later Laura) to break her of that, to help her realize that it was okay to let someone else look out for her. No matter what had happened, Clint had been her constant, her anchor. Whether it was a cup of tea, or a bad 70s sitcom, or something as simple as a comforting presence to sit in silence with, he’d always managed to know exactly what she needed, even if she didn’t know it herself. It had taken his absence in order for her to truly realize exactly how bad she was at taking care of herself when she didn’t have anyone to force her to eat or sleep when she was stretching herself too thin.

(Steve tries, and she loves him for it, but he doesn’t know her the way that Clint does.)

His eyes are full of guilt when he looks up at her and she hates that she’s made him feel this way. He’s been the knife in her heart, slowly sinking deeper with every passing day, and yet she still can’t bear the sight of him in pain. And not just pain, because that’s something neither of them is a stranger to. _Defeat_.

“Nat?”

She shakes her head quickly to clear her head, and notices that Clint’s looking at her quizzically, his expression flooded with concern. She wonders how long she’s been staring at him without really seeing him. The look in his eyes tells her that this isn’t the first time he’s said her name in an attempt to call her out of her own thoughts.

“That’s it,” he says decisively. “You need to get some sleep.”

“I’m fine.” The response is instinctive, after five years of everyone telling her to _breathe, slow down, take a break._ She’d scoffed at those suggestions, because those were things that wasted time, and time was something she’d already run out of.

“Natasha.”

“What about you?” she retorts. “You’re not exactly in peak condition yourself.”

“ _God_ , Nat, has it really been five years since you’ve let someone take care of you?”

The rest of them try, they really do. Tony and Pepper invite her over for dinner occasionally. Rhodey calls sometimes, just to talk, even when he’s not scheduled to check in. Steve drops by with groceries, because he knows she won’t buy them herself, and he’s even made her dinner on occasion during some of his longer stints at the compound. But none of them look out for her the way she and Clint used to look out for each other. She hasn’t had anyone express this level of concern for her well-being since…well, since Clint left.

“I could ask you the same question,” she responds quietly.

“Okay,” he concedes. “I’ll let you take care of me if you let me take care of you. Deal?”

It’s such an absurd prospect that she actually laughs; a short, soft sound. “Deal.”

They crawl into bed together, lying shoulder to shoulder on their backs, staring up at the ceiling. Clint slips his hand into hers, and she holds on tightly. His voice breaks through the silence, just as she feels herself about to drift off. “Nat?”

“Mm?” she manages.

“Thank you.”

She doesn’t need to ask him what for. They both know.

As the darkness finally claims her, she prepares herself for the inevitable nightmares, the ghosts that haunt her every time she closes her eyes.

Instead, when she opens her eyes, it’s to see bright sunlight filtering through the window, and the covers rumpled beside her where Clint had been sleeping. As if her thoughts have summoned him, the door opens and he enters, a steaming mug in each hand. “Morning,” he says brightly, holding one of the mugs out towards her. “Figured you’d want this.”

“What time is it?”

“Just past ten.” He places the coffee on the bedside table when she doesn’t take it.

“ _Ten?_ ” She never sleeps past seven. “Why did you let me sleep this late?”

“You needed it,” he responds simply. “Besides, Stark and Rogers seem to have everything under control, for the most part.”

She shakes her head, jumping out of bed and picking up the coffee so quickly that it sloshes over the edges of the mug, small droplets staining the carpet brown. “ _Shit_. Never mind. I should be out there, I should be helping them, I should-”

“Rest,” Clint interrupts. “Take a break. Please.” When he sees the uncertainty in her eyes he adds, “You don’t have to do this alone anymore, Nat.”

She takes a deep breath and raises the mug to her lips, taking a small sip to cover the smile that she can feel spreading across her face. “It’s good to have you back, Clint.”

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on tumblr (@natrasharomanova) / twitter (@hoboskywalker)


End file.
